the weekend
my in-laws are in town, and i'm writing poetry again.
today we were in the french quarter, after a rapid trip through the D-Day Museum. maybe it was the depression of a-bombs on my head: one war fought against evil--the other ocean was a wash of racism. whatever it was, the quarter was less than stellar, once more. i often have a distracted, melancholy attitude there--like i'm in a mega-mall, and maybe i am.
there was the Satchmo festival, but i only caught about 25min of music. the last 5 were stellar, though, i must admit.
well, i'm reading Rumi, too. he's got poetry running in my veins, i think.
and, i've decided to reinstute the capital H for he and him when talking about God. for a while, i was avoiding, as much as possible, using pronouns at all for God, but it just gets too unnatural, and too many would flip or just get confused if i occasionally said she. so, the capital H helps solve the problem for me now. i'm not using He as if to say God is a man, but a person, the One Supreme Person.
more words? -- they need refinement, but i like the overall feel.
Created Being
When God existed in the inevitability of space,
Was there any room? Was anything?
Out of nothing, comes everything, but
Where was God? Anywhere?
His own dimension, His own race.
Length and width and height, then time,
Always God.
Continuity of circles,
But not the sphere of space,
Which is full.
The circle of eternity encloses all
Of nothing—the everything that never is.
Space is creation, could it be imagination,
An illusion of mind on empty reality,
But not empty. Without space to fill
Everything is full, complete—
Nothing more is necessary.
So was God, but
And width and height of love, even
A time in which things do,
And God divided the chaos of nonbeing,
Created being.
today we were in the french quarter, after a rapid trip through the D-Day Museum. maybe it was the depression of a-bombs on my head: one war fought against evil--the other ocean was a wash of racism. whatever it was, the quarter was less than stellar, once more. i often have a distracted, melancholy attitude there--like i'm in a mega-mall, and maybe i am.
there was the Satchmo festival, but i only caught about 25min of music. the last 5 were stellar, though, i must admit.
well, i'm reading Rumi, too. he's got poetry running in my veins, i think.
and, i've decided to reinstute the capital H for he and him when talking about God. for a while, i was avoiding, as much as possible, using pronouns at all for God, but it just gets too unnatural, and too many would flip or just get confused if i occasionally said she. so, the capital H helps solve the problem for me now. i'm not using He as if to say God is a man, but a person, the One Supreme Person.
more words? -- they need refinement, but i like the overall feel.
Created Being
When God existed in the inevitability of space,
Was there any room? Was anything?
Out of nothing, comes everything, but
Where was God? Anywhere?
His own dimension, His own race.
Length and width and height, then time,
Always God.
Continuity of circles,
But not the sphere of space,
Which is full.
The circle of eternity encloses all
Of nothing—the everything that never is.
Space is creation, could it be imagination,
An illusion of mind on empty reality,
But not empty. Without space to fill
Everything is full, complete—
Nothing more is necessary.
So was God, but
And width and height of love, even
A time in which things do,
And God divided the chaos of nonbeing,
Created being.
posted by Unknown @ 8:34 PM
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